


Doctor's Hospitality

by LexiLaboratories



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Build up, Dirty Talk, Doctor - Freeform, German, Lust, M/M, Male Solo, Medic learns to operate a sniper rifle, POV Third Person, Roommates, Sexual Fantasy, Sniper - Freeform, australian, bushman, hardly accurate though, rifle, shooting practice, tidyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexiLaboratories/pseuds/LexiLaboratories
Summary: A story in which The Sniper's van got blown up whilst on a mission to take out the BLU Spy. The Sniper is wounded in action and a severe infection starts to spread.He needs a place to stay and someone to patch him up. there's only one person who can provide him with both..





	1. Manners, Herr Sniper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of a fic I've never gotten around to publish.
> 
> The Sniper's van got blown up whilst on a mission to take out the BLU Spy. The Sniper is wounded in action and a severe infection starts to spread.  
> He needs a place to stay and someone to patch him up. there's only one person who can provide him with both..

Monday, September 7th, 1968.

The rain was pouring from a wide open sky. Droplets in massive herds splashing all over the ground, the houses, the trees.. In style of typical post-summer.  
His boots were a muddy mess. As were.. Pretty much all the rest of his tall, lanky figure.  
The Australian Sniper had been stumbling through a soaking wet cornfield for the past thirty minutes, grumbling all the curses he was ever taught in the aboriginal language, back in his days, roaming The Outback as a striding bushman.

The whole operation had been a failure. He was supposed to watch the BLU Team from a distance, planning out the best way to effectively shoot down their defences guarding the long-wanted intelligence they held so close to their blue-clad bodies.  
The BLU Spy, however, had cleverly taken the Snipers ally, The RED Scout, hostage some days in advance.  
The poor lad hadn't been able to stand his ground and spilled all information about his team's schemes.  
When the day for the commencing of the operation arrived, things went awfully sour. Having not been prudent enough to safe-check his van, he failed to notice the explosives the Spy had set up within it.  
The Spy knew exactly where Sniper would park it and when – perfect opportunity to once and for all cripple his chances of escape(And for continuing use of that filthy Jarate!).  
The van was blown to bits in a matter of seconds. The Spy had shown up at his hiding place, just to find Snipers hat as the only evidence he was ever there.  
Bushmen are sneaky, and The Snipers lean figure made him nimble and quick as well – he got away.  
But with no home and no money whatsoever.  
As he trotted through the rain, he went through several options:

\- Engies truck, maybe? Nah, he wouldn't lend that to him, not even for a few days. The Engineer might be a kind fella, but The Snipers occasional primal habits didn't fit well with the Texans own customs.  
\- Soldier would be living hell to live with – as would The Demoman. Tough Discipline or a permanent state of boozy haze.. No thanks.  
\- The Scouts place was also out of the question – or rather “Scouts moms place”. Which would be the entire reason of it not being an option.  
\- The Heavy Weapons Guy might want to help him, but.. To be honest, it would not work out. He wouldn't get the space for target-practicing with him running around like a mongrel, shooting whats-its-name at any given thing that stood still for more than 2 seconds.  
.. And no! Dont even THINK about that mute, flame-lovin' MANIAC.. Couldn't do. Not by a long shot.

This left him with only one choice.. Which didn't seem much like a bad idea.  
This candidate might possibly be working all the time – plenty of opportunity for a quiet target-practice.  
He was used to all sorts of people, not easily repelled by The Snipers living habits..  
He was fond of animals, especially birds.. A good place for Hoots.  
Aaand.. The Sniper looked down at his arm. Six sharp splinters from the remains of the van.. Right in his under-arm. One of them had even cut the lower part, close to the pulse of his wrist, blood fossing out. Now that he noticed properly, he was going numb by the minute and pulling them out would most certainly make it worse.  
If he was planning to continue his job as sniping assassin, he would probably have to..

Go and see The Medic.

...

 

Tuesday, September 8th, 1968

 

The Sniper was downright embarrassed. The closer he got to The Doctors residence, the worse it got. This was a bad idea.  
The Doctor would probably just reject him and tell him to go live in a tree or something, like back in his Outback-days.  
He had actually tried just that during the night, after he had escaped from his exploding van and the waiting enemy Spy.  
Summer was nearing its end, only to be replaced by its much colder and much wetter cousin, and apparently autumn nights were cold in this part of the country. This year the shift in weather had happened especially fast though. He had endured a rainy, windy night with only the crown of an elder-tree as his shelter. Come to think about it, it hadn't been downright unbearable..  
He was just about to turn around, when a sharp pain drove through his arm like a lightning bolt had hit it, full force, reminding him why he couldn't back away:  
The splinter-wound wasn't looking too well after the rough night in the wilderness. He tried to move his cold-numb fingers, only to find that the numbness wasn't solely from the cold weather.

He had to see the Doctor anyway.

He dragged his long legs the last bit of distance to The Medics house. The white mahogany-door looked twelve feet tall right now. Too cold and unwelcoming. Like a guardian keeping out unwanted guests. Like the Sniper.  
He sighed. Being a man of pride sure as hell didn't do him any good in this situation. He knocked.  
Once.

Twice.

The Doctor had his day off. Maybe it was a bit too much to ask him-

“Hallo? Wer ist da?”

The Medic had opened the door just barely, only revealing one eye, half-hidden behind perfectly rounded spectacles. He looked pale, his eye darkened underneath and a fine fan of wrinkles forming at the corner when he squeezed his eye at the bright daylight, trying to make out the towering silhouette standing at his doorstep.

Sniper only coughed, signalling his presence with just that.

“Herr Sniper? Do you know vhat time it is? I vas sleeping, dummkopf! Aren't you supposed to be at ze BLU base, taking out defences, ja?”

He opened the door fully, revealing more of himself; wrinkled white dress-shirt accompanied with not-so-matching sweatpants, probably thrown on as soon as he stepped inside yesterday evening. His hair was a mess and it was clear he hadn't spent the night in bed.  
The Sniper had to clear his throat, having not used it in a couple of days.

“Sorry, doc. Things kinda went monkeyballs out there,” He paused and held forth his wounded arm. “Was hopin' ya'd help me out, mate.”

Medics eyes widened at the sight, the wound apparently fascinating him. He immediately grabbed Snipers wrist, causing him to grit his teeth at the short, intense pain it inflicted.

“Ach! Vat is ZIS?! Jumping through dirty, splintered glass has NOZHING to do vith assassination, Herr Sniper!”

“Well.. That's not quite what happened.”

“Wasever, get your arsch inside! Standing out zhere vont make ze infection go away!”  
The Medic mumbled German swear-words as he near-dragged Sniper to his home-clinic at the far end of his apartment.  
Sniper took in the sight of the place; it was so.. tidy. Everything was accommodated as if a ruler had been used to perfectly align every single piece of furniture. He was almost blinded by the dominating white colour all of them had.  
Snipers excellent nose caught the clinical scent the whole room seemed to ooze of and he wrinkled it involuntarily. Not a scent he would easily grow accustomed to.

Medic started to disinfect the ill-looking wound, gushing different kinds of odd-looking liquors into it. As he started stitching the wound together, Sniper pondered how to ask him the, to the Sniper, unavoidable question.  
Just as he had come up with a couple of creative solutions to his residential problem, the Medic broke the silence.

“Herr Sniper. I dont know how to say it, but.. Zis vound.. It might not be as easily cleaned as I thought. Zere's a slight infection here” The Medic poked the wound carelessly, awarded with a not-so-masculine whine from the poor Australian, “.. and here it vould be insane to try and operate in any vay! .. Ich fürchte, zat you may have to stay here for a couple of days.”

Sniper, who stopped paying attention to what Medic was saying, rather what he was doing, turned his gaze to look at the working German.

“R’ly?” was all he could get out.

“Ach ja, I know. It is not ze best solution, but I dont exactly vant to move with you into zat filzhy germsnest of a camper you reside in..! Aber, you can just st-”

The Medic was cut off abruptly by a tight grip on both of his rather broad shoulders, the weight almost toppling him over and off from the office-chair he was currently sat in.

“Crickey, ya cant believe how much easier yer makin' life fer me, doc!!” The Sniper exclaimed, very much out of character as he sported a smile almost cracking from ear to ear.

Medic just reciprocated the smile a bit awkwardly, oblivious as to the cause of this outburst. Sniper quickly realized that his reaction might not exactly have made sense. He removed himself, sitting down and taking on his relaxing posture once again.

“Well, erh.. I had a bit of a bingle, me. My van kinda exploded yesterday.. That bloody fruitshop owner of a SPY'd placed explosives 'nside it.. Blew my poor Sheila t' bits. So, I'm in proper dire need'uva temporary place, ya know..”

The Medic seemed to catch his meaning. First, he was struck with a flash of realisation, then a slight trace of anxiousness. Maybe “a couple of days” was in fact just two days, according to him.

“Vell.. I didn't plan for you to stay for more zhan just a few days.. Just to ensure proper healing of ze infection. But.. You are asking me to share my apartment vith you, gehe ich recht?”

Sniper felt the temperature rise around his ears. Put like that, it did sound a bit insane. A man of clinically proper standards like him and a man up-brought in harsh, nature-close environment like himself.. Neither of them would want to comply with the other. But there really wasn't another solution, not according to Snipers single-track mind.

“If ya have a lounge and a loo for a mate's rate I'll be forever in ya debt.”

Having had no idea of what the Sniper had just said, but getting the general idea, the Medic sighed, correcting his posture in a professional manner.  
“Ve'll see in about two days' time, about your vound. Until zhen, you can stay” he said, turning his head importantly.

“Ouf.. Ta.. I mean, bloody thank ya mate.”

 

Wednesday, September 9th, 1968

“So.. Zis is ze living room. I dont zhink ze apartment was designed for two people. But I have a couch you can borrow for ze time being. My bedroom only has one bed. Which is mine, natürlich.”

The Sniper had initially thought his team-mate's apartment to be remarkably bigger, presuming he spent his pre-Teufort days as a highly ranked doctor. But the interior of the place was surprisingly crammed:  
The hallway he had been dragged through earlier lead into his home clinic, which was a good 15 square metres. There were two rooms to the right of the narrow hall, both leading into separate rooms; a living room equal to the clinic in size, and a bedroom which was shrouded in total darkness. Probably not used in some days.  
The whole apartment had a bright and simple style to it, which reminded Sniper of a hospital. Very fitting actually.  
Wall decorations were sparse and the few there were, depicted classical instruments and were of antique material, contrasting the white foundation. They looked important and rare. Sniper didn't know nearly enough about art or ancient relics to bother about them, though. The Medic surely liked himself a classical styled home.

 

..

 

The Medic sighed discreetly as he gave The Sniper a, rather short, guided tour through his meagrely sized residence. He hadn't had time to think this through.  
The Medic was a loner by heart, through and through. Having someone around all day, everyday, who was not his pigeons, was enough to unease him to say the least. His privacy was compromised and he couldn't tend to his own private habits and drop his professional facade, not once.  
After having left the Sniper in the living room to go and fetch some spare blankets, he went to the kitchen to clean up the mess out there. He had had a rough night doing some rather complicated anatomical experiments and hadn't had neither the time nor the energy to tend to his neglected apartment.  
People rarely visited him and least of all his co-workers. He became awfully aware of every crumble of bread and of even the tiniest stain on the stacked plates beside the sink. Not that he thought the Sniper would care and he didn't bother whether he did or not. But the Medic was a man of medicine and cleanliness was of utmost importance. A type of logic that had buried itself deep within his habitual routines and within the instinctual part of his brain.  
He might indulge in severe bloodbaths when doing his experimenting and acting as a battle-Medic in the field. He might as well enjoy it, too.  
However, after every kill and every successful(or unsuccessful for that matter) experiment, all tools and surfaces were cleaned down to its tiniest detail. No exceptions. That was just how he was. It was part of his nature.

“Ach. I am being a fool. He is just staying for a few days. Vhat does it matter? I vill never reach his poor level of hygiene, no matter how much I try.. Vhat do you zhink, Archimedes?”

The snow-white bird bore its tiny feet into the Medics red rubberglove as he held out his arm for it to land on. He rarely left his gloves on when at home, but he had been up all night and was still sporting, at least some of, his working attire.  
Archimedes leaned in for the Medic to caress his soft little head. He closed his eyes as Medic did so. They went like that for a couple of minutes before Medic straightened his back and went for the living room. The Sniper had probably turned Medics couch into his own private swag.

When he entered the living room, he widened his eyes and stared in disbelief at the sight before him:  
The Sniper laid sprawled on the floor, in front of the television, had thrown the blankets and covers underneath himself and his Kukri, rifle and basically everything he had been able to carry in his pockets and pouches had been scattered all over the place. Apparently, he had helped himself to a cup of coffee from the salon-kettle in the corner of the room. Without asking beforehand. He had turned on the television, zapping through the channels as if he had just come home from a long day at work, totally feeling at home.

 

“Entschuldigung.. But VHAT are you doing?” The Medic exclaimed, not caring about his rude tone of voice.

“'m just makin' myself comfortable, me?”  
Sniper looked away from the screen with a lazy stare and took a sip from the mug.

Medic became aware of the awful smell radiating from the bushman; it was a mixture of dirt, smoke, sweat and.. Was it urine? He wrinkled his nose, snorting instinctively. This was unacceptable! If the Australian were to live under his roof, he had to abide by HIS rules. And his hygienic regulations.  
He put on the most professional and placid voice he could muster, not being able to restrain a slight shudder due to agitation.

“Must I remind you, Bushman.. That zis is MY property.. And I have at least ONE condition if you vant to spend your homeless days here..” He pointed with a glove-clad finger towards the opposite end of the hall, where the bathroom was located.  
“You stop dirtying my sheets vith your filthzy body and go shower – now! RAUS!”

Medic watched the Snipers expression go from a relaxed, rather mellow state to that of a boy child who was just told to go spend the night grounded, knowing that his room was full of monsters at the same time.  
The Medic had always had a fair bit of trouble with controlling his temper. As if someone else lived inside him and only came out when he was provoked in one way or another. As if another personality took over and covered his own personality like a second skin.  
He had planned to take it easy with the Australian, maybe try and ignore his caveman tendencies and be polite and hospitable for once.. But he couldn't. He just couldn't when presented to a scenery such as this.

He followed Sniper with an ice-cold stare, not moving his head. Maybe this would scare him away. Or create some kind of respect, based on fear. Anyway, the worst part was probably dealing with his filth. Which was over now, he assumed.

What further trouble could an Australian, middle-aged bushman possibly come up with?


	2. Target Practice

Saturday, 24th of October, 1968

So much paperwork. Medical charts. Health files. They were practically screaming “all-nighter” at him from their stacked position on his desk. Even though it was only late morning.  
The word “Weekend” was nothing but a random scrabble of letters to the Medic. He couldn't remember when he had his last real day off. (Which were primarily spent doing crazy surgery or other illegal, medical stuff on unwilling, imprisoned criminals)  
He pinched his nose, while examining one of the Demoman's files. The guy was practically a living spirit-poisoned kidney. How he managed to stay on his two feet was a mystery to the Medic. Not to mention-

BANG.

The Medic almost toppled backwards right in his chair, giving off a high-pitched whimper, hopefully not heard by anyone but himself.  
A loud crack that sounded a suspicious lot like a rifle shot pierced the air. Medic had absolutely no doubt about who the owner of the aggressive sound-effect might have been. But.. What made him shoot his rifle on a weekend-day? Did the BLU Spy cross the line between work and leisure time once and for all?  
He balanced himself and went for the window to take a glance out in the yard of his apartment.  
It was a foggy and cloudy morning. Numerous small drops of dew ran down the glass, outrunning each other and making it hard to make out any presences outside.  
Actually he was quite positive he had heard faint snoring from the living room when he passed it just 30 minutes ago. No shifting and no sound of any steps, not even silent ones. He couldn't have snuck out without a single sound..

Bang. Another shot.  
Medics curiosity got the better of him. He fetched his white uniform-coat, threw on his perfectly polished combat boots in a hurry and went for the front door.  
He peaked inside the living room on his way – which was evidently empty.

Such a sneaky fox, The RED Sniper.

 

..

 

The Medic began to slowly make out the open shed in the distance which was located at the back of the yard. The sound of the shooting crescendoed as he got closer.  
Just as he had guessed: The Sniper was sitting there, hat off, focus completely directed at the scope of his impressively sized sniper rifle.  
The Medics sight wasn't good, even with his glasses on but he could somehow make out the Snipers features from his distance:  
His jaw protruding a bit and brows furrowing as he concentrated on stilling the rifle for a clean shot.  
His breathing was almost completely non-existing and he knelt on one knee, keeping the rifle steady in his right armpit.  
As the Medic snuck closer to the shed, he wondered if he could actually sneak up on the Sniper, having not ever been successful at out-stealthing the BLU Sniper when acting as a battle-Medic in the field. Just a few steps closer and maybe.. Just maybe..

“Had ya been a BLU Medic, yer head'd been a fine, red mist 400 yards ago, mate.”

The Medic uttered an involuntary sound of disappointment and walked towards the Sniper in a normal pace. Not now, not ever.

 

“.. But then again: What good of a Sniper would I be, if I hadn't spotted ya yonks ago?”

The Sniper turned his head to look at the Medic with a smug grin and a superior-looking gaze over the rim of his yellow-tinted sunglasses. He didn't get up to seize his practice session though. He just turned his head again and fired once more.  
Medic squinted his eyes in the direction of Snipers shooting, trying to make out his target. The only thing he could see, past the far-stretching cornfield, was the edge of the woods his backyard was lined up against. No targets whatsoever.

“Vhat are you shooting at, if you do not mind me asking?” Medic asked, always having a polite tone of voice as a doctor's habit when inquiring something.

Sniper chuckled at the question, almost sounding mockingly amused by it. He reached behind himself to grab something in his pouch; a pair of binoculars. He held them out for Medic to take, indicating that he took a look himself if he wasn't able to by eyesight.  
Medic snorted quietly at the way it made him seem incapable, even though it wasn't his field of work at all. Luckily the Sniper seemed ignorant to his reaction.  
Medic put the binoculars to his eyes to peer into the distance.  
At first, he couldn't make out anything. He moved the binoculars to the right, then to the left a bit, zooming in and adjusting the Depth of Field on them.

“turn 'em a bit downwards,”

Medic almost jumped. Sniper had, once again, out-stealthed him good.  
He was right beside him, close, as he uttered the instructions in a quiet voice, sounding almost like one of them hunters on famous TV-shows. He guided the binoculars, still positioned in front of Medics eyes and zoomed in a good bit more:  
A small wooden table was positioned some yards into the forest.  
Three small jars were perfectly aligned(probably from his Jarate-collection). Medic assumed he had just shot down a good couple of them due to the uneven distance between each jar. One of them even had a small drawing of the Spy's head on it.  
Medic rose his gaze above the binoculars to compare the distance; It was quite an impressive one.  
The cornfield stretched about 800 yards from his backyard, turning into forest just after a small pathway leading away from these grounds and out into a highway.  
He couldn't help but utter a small gasp at the accuracy of the Snipers shooting, despite the distance. He really hadn't been paying any mind to the actual skill of the rifle-carrying assassin his team housed.

“That is some impressive shooting you are doing Herr Sniper,” The Medic almost-whispered, trying not to sound too impressed. Dignity and all.

“Oi, someone's actually acknowledgin' me skills! Jingoes.”

“Ach. It is not like I know anything about shooting and sniping, vhatsoever.”

“Wanna have a go?”

“.. Entschuldigung?”

The Sniper left Medics side to return to his sniping position. He gestured with his head for Medic to follow.  
He hesitated a few moments, not so sure if he dared wandering into foreign territories like this. He had his giganormous workload and probably wouldn't finish even if he did refuse the offer – but he was especially curious today..

.. Blast it.  
He blamed the weekend, and marched towards the awaiting Australian.

“'attadoc!” Sniper exclaimed, embarrassing the RED healer on purpose.

Medic had tried holding a sniper rifle once or twice, during World War II, when he was nothing but newblood, knowing nothing of the joys of killing. He had even tried shooting one but it was so long ago.  
Something deep inside him wanted to prove himself to the Sniper.  
When he went to pick up the rifle, Sniper approached him indicating that he wanted to help him positioning the weapon.  
Medic refused his preposition with a dash of his hand that Sniper accepted with a lopsided smirk.  
Medic squatted to a sitting position, the same he had seen Sniper in just a moment ago. He tried to mimic the posture; the butt in his right armpit, left hand supporting the forestock.  
He didn't even know what to target. Not the jars, not by a long shot.  
He hesitated, but eventually he found a cut-off treetrunk lying across the field a good 30 yards away with a medium-sized twig sticking up. That was his target.  
His arms had already begun trembling and were going rather numb by holding forth the heavy piece of weaponry. He tried to remember what he was taught back in the army:  
“Position the rifle. Inhale. Hold your breath whilst aiming. When a bit below desired target; exhale, watch the crosshair move upwards, meeting the target. Pull trigger.”

But his breath was way too shaky, due to the uncomfortable and unaccustomed position and the trembling had only gone worse by the time he decided to pull the trigger.  
The shot went way over the trunk and hit God-knows-what, making birds fly out of the forest, frightened beyond measure.  
The Medic felt his ears go hotter than usual. He usually didn't embarrass himself like that. He was usually a good shot with his Syringe Gun. But apparently, “usually” wasn't a word he could use to describe his actions today.  
He could sense Snipers gaze at his back, though he refused to put down the rifle.  
If he tried resting his rear on the heel of his bent leg, maybe it would feel more..  
He didn't get to think any further as a firm grip of a strong, sturdy hand on his right shoulder ripped him right out of his focused state.

“Try'n stand up, mate.”

Medic absentmindedly did as he was told. He was guided to a rocky fence, just within an elbows-height.

“Lean in.. Righ'.. Yah, there.”  
The Sniper leant in close, like he had before the sniping-lesson. This time putting a bit of pressure to the Medics back with his bodyweight, forcing him to lean his torso against the fence. Medic felt his stomach turn in an unfamiliar fashion, increasing his body's temperature a tad.  
The Sniper was apparently unaffected by this as he continued his lecture:  
“Ya're grippin' the forend too tight – crickey, just relax, 's isn't a bloody ballet-performance.”  
His left arm reached around the Germans broad shoulders to adjust the angle of his elbow, trapping the Medic between him and the fence.  
“.. Ya need to caress her.. Like ya would a sheila.. Feel 'er up good..”

The Snipers voice had dropped down two or three tones with every instructional sentence, his accent thickening also, getting closer to the Medics ear with every word.  
He had never heard him talk like this before. So passionate..

“Try'n expand yer lungs and yer gut real' proper good..”

The Medic twitched a bit as Snipers right hand slid around his torso to rest on his midriff, applying subtle pressure with his fingertips.

“Now, move me hand wit'ya diaphragm,”

The rising temperature was turning into heat, and the tensed doctor felt his breath go slightly ragged, only this time the reason was unclear to him.  
He expanded his midsection as instructed, feeling the Snipers fingers increasing their pressure.

“Ya see the crosshair movin' down? Now's when ya hold yer breath 'n get ready ta pull..”

He tightened his abs.

“.. Steady, steady..”  
Snipers breath was hot on his ear now, but he kept focusing, trying not to shake from the heat, running downwards now.

“Exhale..”

Upwards, upwards, upwards.. Locked.

 

“Shoot.”

 

The Medic wasn't imagining. The word was whispered, almost growled with a hoarse Australian twang into his ear.  
No, onto his ear.  
He felt the Snipers chapped lips against the lobe of his heated ear as they moved to utter the command.  
And a command it was. Medic uttered a breathy exclaim of surprise and pulled.  
The shot was clear as daylight as the bullet penetrated the small twig on the trunk, breaking it with the force.  
Medic exhaled the last bit of air out of his lungs, feeling flustered and confused rather than victorious.  
Sniper turned his head away from the Medics face, scouting into the distance to inspect the shot, still pushed up against Medics back.  
Then he smiled, wide, revealing a bit of teeth.

“Ace! Proper nice, that.”

He leant in, as far as the fence would let him to take the rifle from Medics hands. That was when Medic felt it: Snipers crotch brushed against his thigh, very briefly. He was almost sure there was something bulgier than usual down there, but not certain. It could have been his knife. After all, Medic couldn't see whether Sniper leant in from the side or directly behind.  
The smell of Sniper still lingered close to him; a rather sweet, masculine smell of sweat this time, mixed with his own unique smell of outdoor-living and bit of coffee.  
He was still feeling odd. Like he had just had..

“That was some bloody quick improvement, dont ya agree?” The Sniper said knowingly, putting his rifle away into its holster.

Medic was still dumbfounded.  
“Vhat.. I dont.. I have never placed a shot like that, niemals.”

Sniper leant against the fence with his back beside Medic when finished packing. He rested his arms on it as he adjusted his hat back on his head.

“Ya know, doc. Shootin' a beaut like that.. Requires passion, great as. Y'have ta feel somethin'.. Dealin' with rifles is no simple piece o' piss and ya have to bring passion into the game. Dinkum passion, that is..”

He leant in one last time.  
“Was just trynna help. Hope I didn’t made ya crack a kraut,” he said and laughed quietly.

Sniper had probably meant doing his pants, trying to be funny, but Medic automatically misunderstood it, knowing how Sniper usually referred to something else as being “cracked”, though not really remembering the rest. 

“On ya, nurse. By the looks of it, I seem to have given ya a fair go, aint that right?” He winked and picked up his rifle and pouch, heading for the apartment.  
“I’ve ta hit the dunny. See ya inside!”

As quick as he had just said that he was gone, heading for the toilet, apparently.  
Medic was still frozen to the very same spot he had been forced to remain in just a blink ago. He felt stupid and confused.  
Shooting a rifle had nothing to do with.. His gaze wandered downwards to his still throbbing pelvic region.  
Why did he react like this when Sniper was apparently unaffected? Maybe it was in fact something else that had excited him. The rush of the moment? The intensity of shooting? He had always been keen on shooting rather than healing.  
Sniper had just tried to accentuate it with his dramatic instructing, making him a better shot. And worse of all - it had worked.  
He pinched his nose and brushed it off with a heavy sigh, gaining control over his still ragged breathing.  
It was time for a shower.


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actvities of the past day's events cant seem to escape The Medic's wandering thoughts.

Epilogue

Medic crept under his covers. What a day. He had hardly been doing any work, mind still on his reaction from earlier.  
It had been very long since he had been paying any attention to his “savage” part. Meaning his more “instinct and lust-driven side”. He believed in science and knowledge; such matters were of little, if any importance to him at all.  
He believed it could be repressed, removed eventually, with enough years of constant practice in repressing.  
But neglecting it for so long as he had been.. Unfortunately, it had its downsides, being brought forth again after.. Was it years? of repressing it.  
He was out of control. His thoughts wandered down paths, dusty and unwalked; he felt his groin grow hot.  
No way.  
These drives had to be removed in some way, he couldn’t.. He wouldn’t..  
His hand moved down automatically. All the way down, guided by the increasing heat. It did not stop, nor did it slow down. 

He closed his eyes, feeling himself up, slowly making out the growing bulge in his briefs. His breathing became slower and stronger. He uttered a quiet, breathy moan as his hand brushed against the head of his, now fully grown erection.  
In his mind, his own hand was removed, replaced.. By a more slender, but still strong hand; a leather-clad hand.  
The familiar sweet, masculine smell of sweat and dirt filled his nostrils, this time not at all repulsive to him..  
He felt the hot breath against his stomach, his chest, his neck.. All the way to his right ear.  
His whole body grew hot as the breathing was completely focused on his ear now.  
As he felt another bulge slowly rubbing against his own, his own breathing quickened. Faster, faster, faster..  
The other being’s breathing turned into spoken words, slowly, also ragged and excited, voice dripping with lust and savage growls, like an animal in heat:

“Caress it.. Feel it up proper good.. Yeah, righ’ there..”

Small whimpers escaped Medics dry throat as he neared his climax, the slow rubbing turning into quick rutting along with whispered moans, fast-paced and needy.  
Medic felt his testicles tighten, nearing his climax. As he did, he once again heard the lust-dripping voice utter one last word:

“Shoot.”

The heat exploded inside him and he saw stars as millions of feelings culminated all at once. He gripped the sheets as his body did things he would have never allowed it to do - had he had any control at all.  
He cried out. How loud he would never know. With the sound of his own lewd, unrecognizable voice, he opened his eyes and sat up. Startled.  
He looked around, completely discombobulated; no one around. 

He was all alone. 

Sweat gushed down from his hairline, his upper lip and his neck. His left hand gripping the sheets tightly. His right hand shamelessly holding onto his softening dick, glistening with thick, white cum.  
As he came down from his rush steadily, he began to come to his senses.  
Suddenly it all came back to him what he had been doing.

He threw himself back against the pillow. He was frustrated beyond measure. He felt ashamed. Spent. Filthy. Like an animal not able to control his own bodily actions. All he had been convincing himself of all these years.. It was a complete waste of time. 

Then, a flash cracked across his mind. The hot sweaty feeling was replaced with an ice-cold, wet sensation.  
Not only had he given in to his instincts, but.. Gosh, no.  
He covered his face with his whole hand, trying to deny the undeniable: 

He had been fantasizing about none other than The Sniper. 

This had to stop. He had to put an end to these unwelcomed feelings.

And that had to be NOW.


End file.
